Page 135 of Burn for Her

Son…. Dorian’s mind reeled and stomach lurched. Behind him, Stryx made a strangled noise—something close to a whispered scream. It was so out of place and yet unbearably familiar…

For a second, Dorian thought he was having some kind of out-of-body experience in a supremely fucked up dream. Stryx’s movements behind him, the knife in his back, the gun to his head, his mate standing across from him and completely out of his reach. The scent of burnt flesh was fresh in Dorian’s nose.

This can’t be happening. No, no, no, no….

The one holding Lena started laughing. The sound hooked Dorian’s soul and sent him careening back into his skin. With a roar, he threw his head back and cracked Stryx in the face. Boom! Stryx pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed past the bridge of Dorian’s nose as he twisted and rolled away before the blade in his back could cut into his spinal column next. Without wasting another precious second, he attacked not Stryx…

But his father.

Chapter 43

A chemical taste bloomed on Lena’s tongue. Her head thumped. The house, if it could be called that, was completely empty and chewed away by nature, time, and decay. It smelled like a sewer but way worse. Dangling from a set of chains attached to an eyehook in the ceiling, she swung like a side of beef.

How the hell had this happened?

One minute she was fighting a deranged animal, then blackness.

Looking around, she noticed her weapons laying on the countertop with a roach crawling across a few discarded darts. Were those animal tranquilizers?

Lovely.

Dizziness threatened to make her vomit, but she wouldn’t allow it. Dorian. Where was Dorian? Had they taken him too? Were they keeping him separate? Was he dead?

Nope, she couldn’t think like that.

Piecing together what happened, she tried to put the events in order. Savag-Ri on fire, Stryx’s attack, scarred man grabbing her.

Dorian was frozen for the entire last half of that shitshow. She didn’t think that was possible. Dorian. Her Reaper. The Fear Eater… was scared shitless.

That couldn’t be good. In fact, she couldn’t think of anything worse than that. If this guy scared Dorian that much, he must be the devil incarnate.

Dorian warned her a thousand times that this life was dangerous. Made it clear he had enemies at every corner. But she didn’t care because all that mattered was life with him. Danger she could face.

But a life without Dorian?

Holy Hell, she couldn’t even bring herself to think about it. Rejected the possibility with every molecule she owned.

“Lena.”

Her heart leapt at the groggy voice coming from the second floor of the shithole house. “Dorian?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

She heard him exhale in relief. And then she heard the rattle in his lungs.

He was deteriorating faster.

The front door swung open and a light flicked on, illuminating exactly what kind of place this was. Oh hellllll no. Lena’s gaze couldn’t latch onto any one thing at once. Bile rose in her throat and she gagged.

Curtains made of skin and human hair covered the windows. Dried blood crusted the rotten, wooden floorboards. The kitchen, or what once was the kitchen of this little house of horrors, had doorless cabinets with different body parts in various stages of decay.

White powder coated the floor and boot prints were all over the place in a circle around where she dangled.

Hand-to-the-man, if she heard a chainsaw start up, she was going to piss herself.

Panicked, she started hyperventilating and kicking her feet to swing herself around on the hook. She sensed someone watching her. Sucking in fetid air, her eyes watered. Throat tightened. Thighs clenched.